Amongst The Misty Mountains
by Wings Of Sanguine
Summary: Things at Hogwarts take a turn for the worst when Ministry member Dolores Umbridge takes the DADA position at school. With the Order coming together and a new Yule Ball being held, things are bound to be a riot as Draco boasts of a new house elf, and its obvious the elves at Hogwarts are effected by the predicament. DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER/THE HOBBIT OR CHARACTERS
1. Chapter 1

The Great Hall was abuzz as Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way to the Gryffindor table, lugging their books and parchments with them. Divinations had been an absolute nightmare once again, with Trelawney spewing nonsense over another of Harry's "deaths" and running out of the room bawling her eyes out.

Not that it bothered the students at this point. In their fifth year, they learned that it was going to happen at one point, all the attention being turned on Harry. No big deal. Ron was already grabbing for food before they even sat down, saue from a leg of barbecued chicken dripping down his arm.

"So, did you guys hear?" Fred and George grinned mischieviously, leaning forward on their elbows. Lights from the candles on the chandeliers glinted on the polished wood of the tables. Harry shook his head, reaching for a buttered blueberry muffin. Hermione scoffed, eyeing the teacher's table with a particularly disgusted look etched into her features.

"What?" she asked, forcing herself to look away from the staff table, back to her friends.

"About Malfoy," Fred hinted, his eyes darting to the Slytherin table. The others followed, eyeing the boy with suspicion.

Slicking back his blond hair, Draco Malfoy was talking rather loudly, although among the clatter, it was hard to make out what he was saying. His cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, were congratulating him, patting him on the back and such. rather disgusting, was Harry's opinion.

Licking her lips, Hermione asked, "What about him?" The twins rolled their eyes, chuckling to themselves. Harry noticed her eyeing the tray of muffins he had just taken from and gently pushed it over to her. Greedily she snatched two off the plate, licking butter from her fingers.

"There's a rumor…" George trailed, eyeing his brother, "Wouldn't you say so, Fred?" Fred nodded in agreement, drumming his fingers on the table.

"I suppose, but I dont know how important it is to address, eh, George?"

Hermione scowled. She was quite impatient when people wouldn't get straight to the point, Harry knew. For some odd reason, his gaze flew to the staff table. McGonagall was having a pleasant chat with Hagrid (most likely about Hippogriffs, for they decided to be added to the curriculum this year)

That, or whomever she had seen sitting at the staff table really annoyed her for some reason.

"Just spit it out!" she complained, drumming her fingers on the table, "We don't have all day!" Angrily, she chomped on one of her muffins, crumbs spewing everywhere.

"Alright, _geez!_ " Fred giggled, "Why so angry?" Hermione rolled her eyes at them, swallowing hard as she gave Harry a side-long glance. Harry gulped, clearing his throat.

He knew why.

Elves. Specifically the ones residing in Hogwarts. Despite having tried to help free them during their third or fourth year (he couldn't really remember, seeing as he was busy fighting dementors and participating in the Tri-Wizard Tournament at the time). All the elves, it seemed, had no desire to rid themselves of their duties at Hogwarts, a fact that simply disheartened the poor witch. But elves were elves, Harry supposed. And if the elves _wanted_ to serve other people, who was he to stop them?

"I heard that Malfoy and his family got a new House Elf," Fred said with finality, his words echoed by the slam of a bronze cup- Neville had just finished taking a sip, liquid sloshing over the side as he put it down. Hermione raised an eyebrow at the twins, a warning gleam in her eyes.

"But they _just_ let go of Dobby," Hermione reminded them, taking another bite of her muffin. Melted butter dripped down her chin, and Harry did everything he could not to sneak her a napkin.

"Won't matter to the Malfoys," the twins shrugged, "besides, pureblood families have a tendency to go through house elves left and right anyway." Hermione sighed, wiping her chin with her sleeve. The twins had a point; it was customary for all pureblood wizarding families to have a house elf, and it was not uncommon to have multiple elves to go through within a year or so.

Ghosts and poltergeists wandered the air of the Great Hall, the chatter amongst the students dying down as they recollected themselves at the staff's table. The Headmaster Dumbledore- and old man with long purple robes and an even longer beard- cleared his throat, standing to greet them.

"Welcome back, and for those of you joining us anew, simply welcome," he stated, his voice booming in the cavernous room. Harry felt the reverbations deep in his gut, like a bassline on an electric guitar playing through an amp. Everyone turned their attention to the Headmaster, eagerly listening as he explained the rules, both old and new, of Hogwarts, introducing the familiar staff members once again.

"And this year, I would like to introduce-"

"Hmm-mmm."

Everyone quieted to focus on a rather stout, toadish woman in a frilly pink cardigan and matching skirt. Her brown hair was curled up to her chin, and the smile plastered on her face looked ill.

Even worse: she spoke up.

"It's lovely to be so kindly introduced, Headmaster," the woman's eyes crinkled as she grinned at the students, "and with such happy faces looking up at me! I'm sure it will be wonderful to teach you this year, required the Ministry sets proper mandates on teh education of young wizards and witches such as yourselves-"

Thankfully, Dumbledore cut her off, "Madame Dolores Umbridge of the Ministry of Magic, here to fill the position of Defense Against The Dark Arts." Clearing his throat, he went on, ignoring the abashed look on her face, "Now, before you finish your meal and go off to bed, I have a few words I would like to say- and here they are…"

Silence befell the students as they sat on the edge of their seats. Dumbledore's words were different every year, always a surprise as they were strangely odd and were not to be found in a dictionary (of the Muggle kind, at least.) Glancing at the teachers seated besides he Headmaster, Harry noticed they all were giving Dolores Umbridge wary, if not menacing, glances. Snape himself looked absolutely livid, ready to snap the thin stem of the goblet he drank from.

"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" Dumbledore announced, "May your year be fruitful and have a good evening!"

Chairs scraped against the floor as the students filed out of the dining hall, Ron trying to snag as many chocolate candies as he could before receiving a stern look from Nearly-Headless Nick (who unfortunately was trying to fit his head back on as best he could after Peeves lopped it off once more. Harry thought the ghost was lucky- if his head were _truly_ cut off, he would probably leave it out in the gutter.)

Hermione seemed to be fuming, however, stomping out of the hall with Harry and Ron in tow. In the hall, a chill spread through the open concept area, between the pillars of stone that held the ceiling over their heads. Students bumbled into one another, trying to meet friends and prefects, make their way to the dormitories and avoid a few of the more suspicious looking ghosts that resided in the castle. From far away, Harry heard a portrait singing, another student laughing at a spell cast on some poor soul who got caught in the middle of it.

"Hermione, ow!" Ron cried as Hermione grabbed their arms, dragging them behind her.

"Sorry, Ronald, I just-" Hermione began to apologize as Ron snatched his arm away, muttering about how "I almost dropped my chocolates thanks to you!"

Harry rolled his eyes. No use in beating around the bush.

"Do you actually believe that Malfoy got a new house elf, Hermione?" Harry asked, exasperated by the look of utter confusion on her face.

"Well? Wouldn't you?" Hermione nearly whined, "After all, the Malfoys are one of the richest, snobbiest-"

"Hermione-"

"-wealthiest, stuck-up families at Hogwarts!" Hermione wrung her hands, her fingers flying towards her hair. It was a nervous habit Hermione had sometimes, Harry noticed, playing with her hair.

"But you _hate_ Draco," Ron pointed out.

"And? If a new elf is in the care of his household, who _knows_ the horrors the poor creature will be subjected to?!" Hermione cried, "Honestly, Ronald!"

"What?!" Ron protested, "I'm sorry the lives of elves don't really interest me, 'Mione!"

"How about we just wait to see if it's true first?" Harry interjected. Hermione sighed.

"Alright, alright.." Hermione said, calming herself down, "But still-"

"Ah!" Ron chastised her, and Harry found it kind of funny, how _Ron_ was the one calming _Hermione_ down. They had miraulously made it through the pack of students to the Gryffindor Common Room, and Harry was about to give the password to the portrait (which depicted the fat Sir Cadogan lying under a tree- seriously? Where was the Fat Lady?) when a nasally yell pierced his ears.

"Oi, Potter! Still hanging around riffraff, I see."

Glaring, Harry whirled his head around to look at Draco Malfoy. His blond hair was slicked back like usual, and Harry hoped his green and silver tie was tied just a little too tight around his neck, as the boy's face was red with glee. His two buffoons for friends cackled and hissed at the trio, jumping when Malfoy held up a hand to silence them.

"What do you want, _Malfoy_?" Harry nearly spit the name out in disgust. Draco feigned a look of innocence, shrugging his shoulders.

"I merely want to know how your summer went is all," Draco mocked politeness, "It must have been terrible if you spent it with those idiots again." Hermione groaned as Ron rolled his eyes. That summer the three of them had stayed at the Weasley house, dodging tricks and practicing Quidditch. Every so often they had visited Sirius and Remus, who had taken up residence in the Black family mansion, although Harry thought the house itself was riving his godfather a little more mad than usual.

Overall it had been a pleasant summer.

"Why would _you_ care, Malfoy?" Ron growled at him, ears tinged pink, "You probably just want to gloat about all your fancy new toys you got anyway."

Malfoy shrugged, and Harry wanted to whip out his wand and slap that silly smirk off the kid's face right there and then. That's how mad he got just standing in Draco's general vicinity.

But with Hermione's stern glare, he settled for clenching his hands into fists as Draco nonchalantly looked at his nails, saying:

"Well, I guess you've already heard about my new toys, Potter. Too bad your friends can't afford one." A sharp gasp flew from Hermione's throat- so it was true!  
"I'll have you know-" she began, charging at him angrily, only to jump back at the sudden appearance of Crabbe and Goyle in their shield-like mannerisms.

"Can it, half-breed," Draco snarled at her, and Harry noticed her eyes fall flat.

"Don't be rude, Malfoy!" Ron yelled.

Draco simply scoffed, turning on his heel. His black robes flew behind him as he strode towards the Slytherin dormitories, chuckling at whatever stupid thing Crabbe or Goyle had said. Turning back to Hermione, both boys saw she had tears forming in her eyes.

"Don't listen to him, Hermione," Ron said, clapping a hand on her shoulder, "he's a bloody git-"

"I know, I'm sorry," she cut him off, sniffling softly, "I shouldn't have blown up like that."

"Well, in your defense, you actually care about others, unlike him," Harry encouraged, "I mean, who else would make an attempt to brighten the future for all house-elves? Certainly not him, that's for sure."

Hermione cracked a grin, drying her eyes, "Well, now that that's all said and done, we should be off to bed, no?"

For the rest of the night, Harry heard Ron toss and turn in his bed, the Fat Lady making a poor attempt at breaking a champagne glass with that "wondrous" singing voice he was so familiar with.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, as classes went on, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves stuck with the utterly unexplainable Dolores Umbridge for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Again, she wore her ratty pink cardigan and a fake smile. Students were cautious of her gaze as they trudged into class, purely silent as they took their seats.

"Good morning class!" Umbridge greeted them cheerfully.

No answer. No one wanted to speak.

She rapped her wand on the edge of her desk, stirring a few students to life in surprise.

"When I speak you answer," she commanded, "Now, let's try that again, shall we? Good morning, class."

A few mumbles were heard, and Harry hoped that she was satisfied with them. Judging from the strained look on her face, she was, and turned to write on the chalkboard sitting up against the wall. The screech of chalk wailed in the children's ears, a few of them, Harry noticed, clapping their hands to the sides of their skulls to try drowning out the sound. Books were slapped onto wooden desks, and Umbridge gave them all a menacing glare.

"And who said you'd need those?" she asked, her voice full of sugar.

"...I-It was on the list of supplies, Ma'am," said one brave soul- a Hufflepuff boy with blond hair, sitting in the back. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry recognized him- although he could never remember his name, he had seen him hanging out quite a bit with a Slytherin girl in the castle courtyards. Slytherins, it seemed, couldn't be all that bad, right?

Well, save Draco. That kd made lice look good. And it seemed Umbridge was going to give those two a run for their money.

"Well in my class you won't be needing those," Umbridge replied, fixing her hat so it rested at a jaunty angle atop her brown curls. Reluctantly, students who had had the books open closed them, dust floating in clouds from the friction. A draft blew through an open window, and with the flick of her wand, Dolores shut it, a loud click indicating the turn of a lock.

That was it. They were trapped for a good half-hour in this wretched classroom with this wretched teacher.

"Now," Umbridge cleared her throat, "In order to understand the Dark Arts, you must learn the proper spells, of course-" Immediately, everyone whipped out their wands, holding them at the ready. Harry was immediately reminiscent of Remus Lupin's hand at teaching. Everyone had had such fun, and he himself had received the highest marks on his tests he had ever received. But alas, Umbridge seemed confused by the wands, motioning for them to put such tools away.

"You won't be needing those either," she stated, pursing her lips. Her pink kitten heels clicked on the wood floor as she paced up and down the aisle, eyeing each student to return their wands to their robes.

"But then how will we learn anything?" a Ravenclaw student raised a hand deftly in the air, "We need our wands to practice the spells!"

Umbridge tittered at the girl's words, "But this is a _classroom_. You won't need to defend yourself in here." A low grumble swept across the class as they eyed one another, unsure of whether or not Dumbledore had made the right decision appointing her as teacher. Harry silently agreed- there was no point to the class if they didn't have any hands on learning.

"I think she has a point," Harry was surprised to find himself speaking up, Umbridge widening her eyes at him. Harry shrugged, adding, "You know, since Voldemort is back and all."

"I will not tolerate such words in my classroom!" Umbridge's voice was shrill as she scolded him, but Harry was indignant. Umbridge was a teacher, yes, and normally a teacher would be respected by their students. But just from the few minutes of sitting in her class, Harry felt he would have none of it. And, so it seemed, neither did the rest of the class. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco scowl.

No doubt he was bored, with none of the attention being on him. He felt Hermione nudge his elbow with her own, a splinter sticking to the sleeve of his gray sweater as it budged against the desk.

" _Harry_ ," she hissed a warning.

"What?" Harry scoffed, narrowing his eyes at the teacher, "If we're going to defend ourselves against Voldemort, we need to learn actual spells!" Umbridge looked about to speak (most likely to warrant a detention no doubt) when the bell rang, signaling the next class. In a blur, students nearly ran out of the classroom, Umbridge boring holes into their backs with a malicious glare.

Harry didn't care. He just wanted out of that room, out from under Umbridge's thumb. He nearly knocked over a Hufflepuff first year as he pushed his way angrily down the hall, footsteps echoing as he stomped the floor. He was vaguely aware of his friends hovering around him like birds, flitting behind and in front of him in attempts to catch his attention.

Then he saw him.

"Harry…?" Hermione asked, following his gaze, emitting a soft, "Oh…"

Standing by a pillar stood a young man, tall and slender. Harry wasn't sure when he got there, but it was obvious he was lost, a question gleaming in his eyes. Pointing, he asked his friends, "Is that a new teacher?"

Now Hermione and Ron were gawking as well, their jaws nearly dropping to the floor. Aside from being so tall (his height rivaled Hagrid's, but without the bulk), he was gregariously beautiful. High cheekbones were set on a delicate face, a long, slender neck leading to a lithe body. The robes he wore were not of Hogwarts origin- they didn't appeal to the likes of McGonagall and Snape, with their thick black velvet, but were instead a glittering silver, decorated to look like two rather large palm leaves that shrouded his body. The sleeves revealed powerful muscles twitching against the fabric, and his suede brown pants shrugged against the edge of his boots as he walked through the crowds. Harry noticed a slip of red orange underneath the cape of the silver coat, a pop of color against the neutral tones.

"His hair is beautiful," Hermione muttered bitterly, jealousy flashing in her brown eyes. Harry understood where she was coming from; the girl's brown hair was an absolute rat's nest, and his own black bowl wasn't any better, despite Molly Weasley's attempt to make it lie flat ("Just let me cut it , dear, I promise it will look better!"). The man's hair, however, could possibly put every hair stylist out of business. Long it was, cascading like silk down his back, and the color was so blond it was almost white.

It seemed to give his pale skin an otherworldly glow.

"Are you sure he's a teacher?" Ron groaned, breaking Harry from his trance, "I mean, what if he's Malfoy's long lost brother twice removed or something?" Harry let a cackle blurt forth from his throat.

"There's no way anyone that…. _beautiful_ would be related to a _Malfoy_ , Ron!" he laughed, feeling his stomach clench as he resolved into a fit of giggles. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the man steal a glance in his direction, and Harry's mind was suddenly reeling, _Did he hear that?!_ A chill coursed through his veins as the man continued to stare, and even though they were on opposite sides of the corridor, Harry swore he could see his reflection in the man's oculars, the glassy look warping the shape of his head ever so slightly.

Hermione brushed her fingers through her hair, no doubt trying to make it look presentable. Pursing her lips, she jutted her chin at the man, who had now tore his gaze away from the trio, his hand falling to a sheath tied to his waist, hidden just under the lip of the coat. Apparently Ron had noticed her looking, for he demanded, "Oi! What are you looking at?"

"What's that on his head?" she asked, "Some sort of hat?"

By now most students had gone to their rooms or the Great Hall, a bell tolling that it was time to break for lunch. The man jumped ever so slightly, although his features had not changed, remaining as stoic as possible.

"Can we discuss this over lunch?" Ron clutched his stomach, "I'm hungry."

"You're _always_ hungry, Ron,"Hermione admonished with a roll of her eyes, but nevertheless followed the two boys as they made their way to the lunchroom.

The Great Hall was jittery with excitement as they walked in, making their way to the table. Neville was already sitting with the twins, trying (and failing) to expertly avoid buying one of the twins many joke contraptions and spells. A lumpy green toad (Harry remembered Neville had introduced it as Trevor their first year) sat on the table next to Neville's plate, croaking methodically with the chime of the bells.

"Hey Harry," Neville greeted them, doing his best to ignore the twins antics as he pored over his book. Harry recognized it as the Herbology textbook; Neville did have a liking when it came to plants, so he was often reading the thing in his spare time.

"Hey," Harry returned the greeting as he slipped into his seat with Ron, Hermione taking a place next to Neville. Trevor croaked.

"So, did you see the ma in the hallway today?" Hermione got right to the point, raising an eyebrow at Neville. The boy didn't even bother glancing up, simply shook his head.

"Should I have?"

"Just a thought," Hermione shrugged, casting her glance down at her plate. The twins, it seemed to Harry, had had their interests piqued, leaning forward with their elbows on the polished wood. A box of tricks sat to Fred's (or was it George? Harry could never remember) right, a sack of money sitting inside.

"A man in the hallway?" Fred asked, his grin growing wide.

"It seems little Hermione has a secret crush!" George sang teasingly, receiving a pointed glare from Ron.

"No I don't," Hermione shot them down angrily, "We just saw him standing in the middle of the hall was all, honestly!"

Harry nodded in agreement, licking his lips before saying, "Yeah, we did. He looked weird."

"Weird?" Hermione gasped suddenly, "Harry that man was _beautiful_ , not weird. Wherever he came from I'd love to know because I was reading in the _Care of Magical Creatures_ textbook that-"

"Hermione, I'm sorry, but I just don't really care," Harry said, shaking his head. "Really, we _just_ saw him and now you're going to moon over him like all the girls did Professor Lockhart-"

"I did not _moon_ over him, Harry Potter!"

Neville dared to chuckle, turning back to his book when Hermione scrunched her nose at him. Ron's face seemed to have gone red, his ears tinged a subtle pink. The staff had decided to make their appearance, taking their respective seats at the large golden table at the front of the Hall by the grand windows. Harry watched as Dumbledore stood up, clapping his hands loudly to announce:

"Before you dig in, let the mail come in!"

Smiling, Harry watched as a flurry of birds swooped into the hall, packages and parcels alike hanging from talons and beaks. One poor pigeon managed to smash itself into the wall before floating to the table in front of a Hufflepuff student, who petted the animal graciously before ripping open a white envelope. Many animals, he noticed, steered clear of the Slytherin students, save for a fat black owl that dropped a letter in Malfoy's bowl of cereal.

At his own table, everyone seemed to get something- Angelina, a girl on the Quidditch team, received a broom, wielding it proudly to her friends as they watched with eager eyes. Harry's own owl, a snowy barn owl named Hedwig, flew close to his owner before politely landing on his shoulder, black talons digging gently into his shoulder. Carefully, Harry untied the yellow ribbon of the letter the owl had for him, the parchment rough against his skin as he rolled it open.

He knew it wasn't for him when he read the wrong name.

"Hermione, do you know anyone named 'Thranduil'?" Harry tested the name on his tongue, the word foreign and strange. He knew he was most likely pronouncing it wrong, but the person wasn't around to correct him. Hermione took the letter from him, scanning it quickly before sliding it back across the table.

"I dunno," she shrugged, "it's in some language I don't understand. I've never seen it before." Now Ron was peering over his shoulder, food falling from his mouth.

"What is that?" he asked between globs of half-chewed meat. Harry shrugged, carefully rolling it back up. Under the chandelier lights, the paper seemed to glow a bright golden color, the writing flashing silver before his eyes.

"Did you guys see that?" Harry blurted, looking at the paper again. Nothing happened as he squinted his eyes at the slashes and dots, pushing his glasses hard against his face.

"See what?" Neville asked. He was watching curiously, now pulling his frog off the table to sit in his lap.

"The letter just… I dunno, _glowed_!" Harry exclaimed.

But now, as he thrust the parchment in his friend's faces, nothing happened. It was simply a piece of paper yellowed with age and curling at the corners. Ron's own owl, Errol, a gray screech owl, had landed erratically on a tray of pancakes, syrup flying like a goopy waterfall towards Neville.

"Harry, paper doesn't just glow-" Hermione began to protest, then reconsidered, "Nope. Never mind. We're a wizarding society. Of _course_ the damn thing glowed."

Harry laughed, the twins having got up to fool around with the other students and get their box of tricks off their hands. No doubt Mr. Filch would have a field day if he found the items. Ron scowled as he grabbed the letter Errol had dropped, tucking it into his robes. Harry figured it was a Howler- his mother had sent one to him last year (for what, it slipped his mind), and those things were unbearably loud. In the midst of eating, a sudden chill blew through the hall, and Harry placed the letter down t glance around at the inhabitants of the hall. Flames on candles flickered, the chandeliers swinging slightly. Even the ghosts, he noticed, had ducked in between students or tucked themselves into corners. Nearly Headless Nick himself was stationed by Dumbledore, who sat with his head raised curiously towards the door.

Boots slapping the floor, the man- the one Harry had spotted just a few minutes ago outside- waltzed in, slowly, deliberately. His silver robes seemed to sparkle more than before, and his blond hair was a tidal wave, flowing elegantly over his shoulders and down his back. The hall had grown quiet, watching him approach the staff table with ease, his lips pursed, his eyes cold and stern.

A collective sigh from every girl (including Hermione, surprisingly) in the room sounded like a stampede of elephants once the man opened his mouth.

"Mithrandir."

Harry mouthed the word in confusion; he didn't know or understand such a language. It seemed however, that Dumbledore understood the meaning of the word, for he immediately stood up, nearly vaulting over the staff table to get on his knees, bowing his head so low it almost touched the floor. Everyone was startled, McGonagall clapping a hand to her mouth whilst Dumbledore paid respects in what everyone most likely thought was the most embarrassing of ways.

And Harry noticed the look of utter abhoration flood the eyes of a certain woman in pink.

"Headmaster!" she shrieked, slamming her hands on the table, "What do you think you're doing?!"

Slowly, Dumbledore got back up, the other man making no move to help him as the old wizard's bones creaked loudly. He stood tall, chin held high as he glared at her. Dumbledore made no notice of the man's expression, wiping dust off his robes.

"Merely showing respect, Dolores, even if it is improperly expressed depending how it's seen," Dumbledore said calmly, a shudder bursting through the hall. A stubby finger was jabbed at the stranger, who remained quiet. It was obvious to Harry that she had an obvious dislike to strangers. Was it because of his fancy dress? Harry wanted to think so, but alas the thought was fleeting as soon as she uttered the words:

"Well, I would have thought _creatures_ such as he were to be in the kitchens, not fraternizing with respectable wizards."

Silence stunned the hall, McGonagall daring to gasp, clapping a withered hand to her mouth. Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something, jumping when the stranger raised a hand. To quiet him.

"Antolle ulua sulrim," the man said sternly. Umbridge looked cross, furrowing her brows together under her ugly pink hat.

"See! He can't even speak English! Dumbledore, I implore you-"

"Much wind pours from your mouth," the stranger spoke up in translation, eyeing Umbridge nastily.

"Speak clearly, you bumbling creature!" Umbrige demanded, "If you're to be in the presence of a member of the Ministry, I require that you be understandable."

Harry froze as he heard the stranger chuckle, shoulders barely shaking with amusement as a flash of resentment gleamed in his stony eyes. Carefully flicking his blond hair back, Harry gasped at what the man revealed.

His ears were pointed.

That didn't make much sense. What was he? A Squib? A Muggle-Born?

"Mani?" the man breathed, "What did you say to me?"

"Dumbledore, I can't believe as Headmaster you've allowed such riffraff into the castle!" Umbridge cried. The other teachers were silent, Hagrid looking like he was trying to disappear in his chair. Even Snape didn't seem amused with Umbridge's words, raising an eyebrow at her in question.

"He looks like anything but riffraff to be honest," Hermione muttered, Ron nodding in agreement.

The man tapped at the piece on his head- a crown-like shape surrounding his head, ending in points as it came down next to his ears. Spikes shot towards the heavens, and Harry noticed it was made entirely of twigs and branches, red berries and leaves intertwined into the wood. It was a rather beautiful crown, Harry had to admit, the berries looking candied and glittering as the man shook his head.

"Dolores, please sit down-" McGonagall tried pushing her gently down in her chair, but the woman wrenched her arm away.

"The Ministry will most certainly hear about this!" Dolores threatened, "You can't let such wild _animals_ lurk about the castle!"

At the mention of 'animal', the man tensed, squaring his shoulders. Storm clouds brewed in his eyes as he stared down the toady woman.

"Dina, Edan" he commented with a sigh. Turning to Dumbledore, he nodded his head, "Albus, I must speak with you."

Harry nearly laughed out loud at the look of rage bottled up in Umbridge's features. Her curls shook with fury as she balled her hands into fists. Lips pointed down in a frown, she began patting down her person, fidgeting with her clothes.

"Is it of importance?" Albus asked, completely unaware of what Umbridge was doing.

Bad, harry thought, that was a very bad decision on Dumbledore's part, not paying attentin to his staff. After a few minutes, Umbridge had produced a long, thin object with a blunt end.

A wand.

"Isn't someone going to reprimand her?" Ron asked sheepishly, tugging at the collar of his robes. The woman was now flicking her wrist testily, McGonagall trying to catch Dumbledore's attention.

"Albus!" she shouted for him, but he was too enthralled in his conversation, "Albus!"

"This will show you that the ministry does not tolerate such lowly beings to speak in such a manner towards them!" Umbridge shouted with defiance, pointing her wand at the man. Before anyone had anytime to do anything, she had already chanted, "Immobulus!" her wand pointed directly at the stranger.

This situation, harry realized, was getting deftly out of hand.

A bolt of magic flew at the man, who had just turned his head towards her spell, his eyes widening in shock. His fingers flew to his belt, his other hand grasping the Headmaster's sleeve.

"Yee! Albus!" he shouted with alarm, and Dumbledore deflected the spell in a blur, the magic dissipating in midair. The ghosts had begun to peek curiously out of their hiding spots, and Harry thought he could hear a slight padding of feet, and unmistakable rumbling in his gut.

"Do you hear that?" Hermione asked, and Harry was silently thankful that she was so perceptive. He nodded, turning back to the scene at hand.

"Dolores!" Dumbledore bellowed, "What are you doing!"

The woman was taken aback at the old man's harsh tone as she managed to stutter, "I-I was merely trying to protect you-"

"And do you really find it necessary to protect me this instant?" he cried at her. Everyone was uncomfortable; Dumbledore was usually a calm and gentle man, able to hear both sides of the story in any situation. However, it was obvious she showed prejudice to those she cared little for.

"But sir, he isn't a wizard!" Umbridge retorted. Dumbledore was about to open his mouth until the stranger clapped a hand to his shoulder, stepping forward. His silver robes looked like starlight against his pale skin, his blond hair almost the color of the moon.

Beautiful.

"You speak of a Ministry, yet I see none but a school of children," he stated in a voice that was silk, caressing cheeks and kissing hands. It flowed like molasses off his tongue, and Harry noticed Hermione turn a pinch red. The man continued, "I see you unfit for such a position. Be thankful he hasn't casted you away, Edan."

"Who are you to speak with me in that manner?!" Umbridge deplored.

"Who are _you_ to speak to me in such a manner, is the true question, is it not?" the man countered calmly. He paused, adding, "Or to threaten me in such a manner as well?"

His words were elegant, poised, as he stared her down. His eyes- Harry saw they were a gray stormy color, almost translucent- were cold and blunt, showing many years beyond his young, young age. Turning to his friends, Harry saw they were equally as impressed, Hermione watching carefully as she ate her food. The letter was sitting on the table, for now being ignored.

Umbridge ignored the man, "Albus! Explain! You don't want word to get back to the Ministry, do you?" The man raised a delicate eyebrow at her.

"It seems," he said, "you are merely this Ministry's dog. Silence, as I speak with my colleague."

Dumbledore bowed his head in regret, "I am deeply sorry for my staff's actions. I'll see to it she is properly given probation-" Before Umbridge could bark in protest, the rumbling Harry hear before had gotten louder, and a bang sounded as a swarm of Hogwart's house elves flowed inside, heading straight for the headmaster.

Hermione was appalled, "How many elves does Hogwarts have?!" she nearly screeched, her mouth agape in shock. Ron laughed, spewing food everywhere as he scooted closer to the table. The elves crowded themselves around the visitor, squealing and laughing with joy. A few of them even shouted at him, but all bowed their bulbous noses downwards, gracing him with the respect Dumbledore had expressed before this fiasco.

"What is going on?!" Harry heard McGonagall ask Hagrid between clenched teeth, and Hagrid chuckled as he stuffed his jaw with a leg of lamb.

"It seems," Dumbledore's voice was a firecracker in the hall, and everything froze, "that we can no longer conceal it." Everyone hushed, the elves having backed away to give the two men breathing room. The students were anticipating his next words, a yelp sounding as one particular Hufflepuff fell off their bench.

"May I present, " Dumbledore cleared his throat, "King Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood in the Northern Realm!"


	3. Chapter 3

Legolas was unsure of how he had gotten in such a predicament. To be sated by mere humans. What was worse was they claimed to be wizards. Granted, the Sindarin Elf had seen them flicking about twigs, mumbling nonsense to one another until a blast of energy came forth from the tips of their sticks. But he wasn't sure it would be called _true_ magic.

True magic, he had seen. Performed by Gandalf The Gray- and later Gandalf The White. Gandalf's magic was powerful, and even though he had a staff with him at all times, Legolas thought the old man used it for mere decoration, as his booming voice was powerful enough to cast spells on his enemies. What these people were doing was most likely a toned down version.

And he was stuck with them for however long it took to get away. The prince had to admit that their skill was great- even he, having enhanced sight- was unable to get the Fellowship to safety. He let himself glance around, at his comrades who were also chained against the wall as he was.

Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin were huddled against one another, shivering against the leaky stone wall. Dirt and blood was dried on their skin, and he could see Frodo mouthing something to the others. Most likely to cheer them up. Legolas knew he could easily read their lips, but that would have been prying, and in their predicament as of right now, they needed all the privacy they could get.

Plus, he was simply too damn _tired_.

He could remember it now, his muscles starting to ache from the mere memory of it. The group had reached a rather darkened part of a strange forest, the hobbits (and dwarf, although he wouldn't admit it) had become suddenly terrified, clinging to one another for dear life. He remembered Frodo had been tempted to use the ring, but the elf had swiftly snatched it from him.

"You must use it for good purposes only."

That was what he had said. Aragorn was with them, he knew, but he remembered the man having gone on ahead to scout the perimeter for possible ambushes and enemies. But now, as Legolas sat here, swallowing hard as he eyed his friends, he realized letting Aragorn go off alone was the second mistake out of the three.

The first was taking the One Ring from Frodo. At the time, he thought he was helping the young hobbit, by taking the jewelry off of his person, but anyone could see the effect the ring had on him. He was reluctant, toying with the thing rolling it around on his palm before unhooking the chain from his belt and handing it over.

And that was when the unorthodox spiders had attacked, crawling and waving their spindly legs every which way. Yells sounded in his ears as his comrades were thrown from their horses, and he turned his head to find Gimli swinging his axe every which way.

The third mistake was not seeing the oncoming onslaught of witches and wizards, all wearing black robes and dark masks. They reminded him of the Nazgul, but he knew nothing could be worse than those dreaded spirits. But as he strung his bow he remembered being struck by a blast of red, the screams of his comrades echoing in his brain.

And he found himself here, up against a dank, dingy dungeon wall. Aragorn's eyes were closed, and Gandalf was nowhere to be seen. The elf's skin was layered with sweat, grime from the stones staining his clothes. His long blond hair was plastered to his forehead and neck, slick with sweat and blood.

 _Blood?_ Legolas thought. He hadn't remembered being hit with anything. And yet he felt the liquid drying on the back of his head, crusting against his skin, the nape of his neck. It seemed Frodo had noticed as well, for Legolas found the unnerving blue eyes boring into him. Chains clanking, Frodo pointed.

"Legolas, you're bleeding."

"What?" came the astonished voice of Sam, who pushed himself up so he sat with his back against the wall, "Sire, are you alright?"

"Please, do not worry," Legolas sent them what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

"But Legolas-"

BANG!

The door to their cell slammed against the wall, hinges whining in protest as a woman and man waltzed in. Quickly, the hobbits and dwarf backed away, fear evident in Merry and Pippin's eyes. Fear, Legolas knew, would most likely be the death of them. As he watched the woman grin maliciously, stooping over to sneer and jab at the prisoners, he knew she would be the worst. Her curly black hair hung in her face, her skin having a pallid look about it. The skirts of her dress rustled as she moved, and Legolas averted his gaze to Strider.

He was out like a light, his shoulders barely giving sign of life, and he was unable to tell is he was breathing properly under all his armor, now dampened black with blood and dirt.

"Bellatrix, do be careful with the merchandise," the man drawled after the woman, flicking long hair over his shoulder. The voice was deep, almost a growl, and Legolas forced himself to keep his eye on Strider, a shiver running down his spine. Water leaked from a hole in the ceiling like a faucet, the elf jumping as it hit his forehead, cool and sharp.

"Aw, come on now! How many does the little brat really need, eh?" the one called Bellatrix replied, a lilt in her voice as she pranced over to the hobbits, who all but shrank into the wall. Legolas knew they were openly trembling, with the way the chains clinked against themselves. He winced as she jabbed at one of them, a cry of alarm escaping the in unison, "Look! They's terrified already, I love it!"

Legolas was reeling. How could someone enjoy torturing another being? He had to reconsider, however, considering the ferocity with which this woman had kidnapped them, fighting with every fiber of her being until she had managed to pin him down- a High Elf- and shackle him up, to drag him home and play around with him in a dingy cell.

Disgusting.

He froze when she directed her words towards the ranger lying across the room.

"The man had been fun to tease," she cooed, "Maybe he'd work for Draco?"

Draco. The name had been mentioned far too often for Legolas' liking. Scratching his back against the stone, Legolas was sure to keep his gaze steady, avoid Bellatrix's wandering eyes. Unfortunately, she had noticed him, prancing into his line of vision. Her skin was calloused and rough against his own as she gripped his chin in her hands, pecking his face with chaste kisses.

"Ugh, Lucius, this one is to die for!" she squealed, and Legolas desperately wished Strider were awake. Or that Gandalf were here. Anything but this horrid woman. "Really, too bad he looks like you though."

"As if!"

Silence.

"What? Lucius, can I smack him?!" Bellatrix suddenly roared, and his cheek stung with the drag of her nails. Over and over, she slapped him, small welts appearing on his porcelain skin as she nearly screeched, "That will teach you to disrespect a Death Eater!"

He wasn't really sure what this woman was going on about. Like the NAzgul, he didn't care for these people, thus he'd say whatever he felt. Legolas didn't realize the words had left his mouth as she repeated the action. Everyone merely watched, Frodo gaping with horror. Gimli- where was Gimli? He was sure the dwarf would speak up, but no words left him.

Wasn't he a friend? Surely he'd come to his defense?

The thought was fleeting as a stinging sensation crawled across his skin, making the cuts even bigger than before. And suddenly he found himself on the ground, cheek pressed to the slimy floor of the cell. Bellatrix was looming over him, cackling with glee as crimson ran in rivers down his cheeks and chin, mingling with the dirty water pooling underneath. Legolas felt his hair being pulled, scalp burning in agony.

"Shut up, you stupid thing" Bellatrix spat at him, using her boot to hold him down. The heel dug into Legolas' skin, and he felt the dirt crumble, the faint echo of an ant crawling over his chin.

"Get… off me!" Legolas commanded, only to have her push further on his skull.

"Bella…." the man said rather bored, inspecting his nails like they were the most interesting things in the world. Groaning deep in her throat, she picked up her foot, sending a sharp kick in Legolas' side for good measure.

"Now, it seems we don't really have much choice," Lucius drawled, Legolas blinking back stars. His temples throbbed as he tried focusing on what the man was saying. He could see from a distance cobwebs littering corners of the room, dead leaves and beetles littering the floor. Dust tickled his nose, threatening to make him sneeze.

"It has to be an elf, right?" Bellatrix asked, jabbing a finger in the four hobbits direction. One of them- and Legolas was fairly certain it had been Sam- began to bawl, tugging at his bonds. "Those four look to be the right height."

He was silently thankful that she hadn't pointed out Gimli. But as the woman approached the hobbits, he noticed the dwarf stirring, soft mumbles low from his throat. Please don't get up, Legolas prayed silently, squeezing his eyes shut as he heard this Lucius's next words:

"But they aren't elves, Bellatrix. There's a reason it's called a _House Elf_. We aren't even sure what these things are."

So they were being left alone. Good.

"What about the man then? Belltrix suggested, "Or the small fat one?"

Lucius scoffed, "A _dwarf_? Do you really think a pureblooded wizard would have a dwarf serving him?" Legolas smirked at the idea. He seemed so offended over suh a small thing; really, in all his travels, the elf found dwarves to be far more compatible than men or wizards. Then it struck him:

The man had said elf.

Legolas bobbed his head, trying to sway his hair in his face, anything to cover himself. If they saw his ears he knew he'd be done for. As he shook his head vigorously, he caught Merry's eye, who pursed his lips. The hobbit knew what the elf was trying to do.

"Distract them!" Legolas mouthed over to him, and Merry nodded as he made an attempt at small talk. Before he could make even a peep, however, Bellatrix had sought him out, hunger flashing in her eyes as she lunged at him. Clawing at his hair, she straddled Legolas' stomach, his chest heaving as he soon found it difficult to breathe.

God, he hated this woman.

"Look, Lucius!" she shrieked, her nails digging into Legolas' skin to grip his ears, tug them into view, "Look at this! His ears are pointed!" Breath was hot on his neck as Lucius joined his fellow Death Eater, long nails tantalizing against the pointed flesh, inspecting Legolas under scrutiny.

Legolas was fairly sure he would be pissing himself soon.

Jerking his head away from them, a crack sounded as it hit the cobblestones, and ringing made his head sing, temples throbbing once more. With Bellatrix laughing, he didn't realize that the hobbit were crying now, yelling for him.

"Legolas! Sire!"

"Sir, please! You have to get up! Get up!"

"I just want to go home! Legolas, please!"

"Aww, poor wee things," Bellatrix teased with mock sincerity, "shaking like leaves, they are!"

"L-Leave them be or I swear I'll throw you into the fiery pits of Mordor itself!" Legolas was surprised to find himself yelling, snapping his teeth at Lucius' prodding fingers. The man nearly leapt backwards, clutching his index finger as if it were a broken bone. Legolas could only wish it were as he met Lucius' eyes. They were cold, unrelenting as he pursed his lips, jutting his chin at his companion.

"Stupid elf, making its stupid threats!" Bellatrix was besides herself, the hobbits eyeing her warily, Sam wiping away his tears furiously.

"It seems we've found the one for Draco," Lucius said nonchalantly, "so you may dispose of the rest."

Legolas visibly twitched at Bellatrix's next words, "Just like I did the old man?"

Just like she did the old man.

Just like the old man?

Did she mean Gandalf?

Shit. Not good. He was their way of getting out. He was the only one who was the most powerful, with the most powerful magic he knew of. Aragorn was depending on him. Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin, they were depending on him.

Hell, Legolas was _desparate_. At this point….

Dirt made the cuts on his body sting. Legolas glanced down in confusion, noticing the bloom of red on his shirt front, the green fabric tattered with holes and tears. He must have received them during the scuffle, before they ended up here. His bones ached as he made a feeble attempt to scoot out from under Lucius' crel eye, screaming aloud when he was dragged roughly back by his hair.

"While she takes care of these cretins, we need to get you properly dressed, no?" Lucius hissed in his ear, spittle dotting the shell of the elf's ear. Legolas drew his head against his shoulder, catching Frodo's eye as he tried to bury his face in his shoulder.

"Legolas…?" Frodo's voice was barely a whisper, tears dotting his brilliant baby blues. Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw Gimli struggling to get away, his axe clattering to the ground as the witch kicked it from his grubby hands.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

A flash of green, and Gimli struggled no more. Legolas opened his mouth to say something- anything- but nothing came. He was are that Lucius had slipped his hands under his arm and was now dragging him towards the door of the cell, watching as Bellatrix reiterated the spell, this time at Aragorn.

A while later (as he had been forced to strip and plunged forcefully into a tub, tensing as a few rather ugly creatures with large ears and bulbous noses rubbed his skin raw, he found himself standing in a lavishly yet bare (if that were possible), pushed to his knees as these creatures (which Legolas soon learned were considered 'elves') dressed him and did their best to clean him up.

Like he was a prize, was what Legolas thought was happening as one of them sickly elves raked its fingers gently through his hair. As a prince of High Elves, he wasn't used to elves looking so sickly. So tiny and short. Every time he yelped as a sudden pain coursed through him, they would apologize profusely, bowing their heads so deeply their noses would poke the smooth marbled floors. The prince tried getting information from these elves, but they were silent, and one of them began to tremble violently at the mere mention of the name "Draco."

Weird, Legolas thought as he was shuffled out of the room, a breeze making gooseflesh decorate his bare legs. Glancing behind him, Legolas saw one of the elves pick up his freshly pressed and folded clothes, disappearing behind a door with them held against its chest.

"We are here, Sire," announced one of the elves as they entered what Legolas thought was the living room. The black tiled floor was cold against his bare feet, the walls decorated in the same dark colors. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, the glass crystals twinkling dimly as it swung. The furniture was accented with boorish silvers and dark forest greens, and Legolas almost had the sense of being surrounded in battle- guerilla warfare, as Aragorn had described to him one day on their journey.

It was fairly twisted, he was certain. Lucius was standing in the room, standing next to a couch whereupon a woman sat, with long brown hair, a single white streak hidden amongst the brown strands. She wore a long black dress with black lace and sparkling jewels. It was all a bit macabre for Legolas' taste.

"Is this it?" she asked, her voice deeper than Legolas expected, "Draco's personal elf?"

 _Personal elf_.

The words resonated inside his head, hacking away at his brain to escape. What had he gotten himself into?!

"Indeed, although I must admit it looks a little like my ancestors, no?" Lucius pointed out, and the woman smiled with her red lips, nodding slowly as she leaned forward to gaze at him some more. Legolas was suddenly aware of what he had been forced to change into- the material was scratchy and poorly put together. The top was a ragged cut crew-neck, no sleeves to protect him from the cold stares of these strangers. It was almost like a dress, although the hemline was shorter than his normal tunic worn for hunting. It hung just above where his calves started, barely covering his front.

Embarrassing.

Shrugging so the piece was longer in the front (evidently allowing a gust of wind to blow along his backside), he glanced up sheepishly at his captors. They were conversing with one another now, ignoring him completely, although the woman kept stealing a glance every now and then, her lips a fine line on her face.

"Shall we present him when Draco gets home?" the woman suggested. Legolas felt his skin tingling. There was that name again. The one every single elf in this house dreaded. Lucius laughed, giving the woman a quick peck on her lips.

"All in due time, Narcissa, my love," he said maliciously, "all in due time. After all, our son likes to play with his new toys, remember?" At this Legolas was tempted to run; screw what he looked like, his dignity. He was a prince, not some petty 'plaything' for a child.

The look on his face must have been one of pure terror, for Lucius turned towards the prince with an empty air about him: "No worries. I promise my son will be gentle with you." Once more, LEgolas found himself being ushered through doors and into strange rooms, hidden in a corner to act as a surprise present.

He couldn't wait to get out of this place, he decided, as a pair of elves closed shackles around him, making sure the bolts were tight before tending to their household duties.


End file.
